


Civil Men

by MissJeeves



Series: Modern Pharmaceuticals [2]
Category: Justified
Genre: Anal Sex, Ass to Mouth, Bathing/Washing, Dubious Consent, M/M, Non Consensual, Oral Sex, Rape, Rimming, Shower Sex, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-21
Updated: 2012-04-21
Packaged: 2017-11-04 02:20:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/388621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissJeeves/pseuds/MissJeeves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boyd returns to take advantage of Raylan, by himself this time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Civil Men

**Author's Note:**

> Sequel to Modern Pharmaceuticals, where Boyd and Ava took advantage of Raylan together.

Raylan hears an exterior door shut, followed by car doors slamming and an engine revving. He doesn’t move, listens for the car to drive off. With difficulty, he sits up. His arms, especially his shoulders, are on fire when he moves. His ass is a deeper, duller pain. Altogether, it’s hard to move. He doesn’t know how long he’s been here, but they hadn’t given him any food and barely any water. Raylan feels weak. The drugs have worn off, but left a desperate edginess and a headache.

The sheets stink of sweat and sex. Raylan feels rank, too. He doesn’t want to be naked any more, but equally doesn’t want to put his clothes on.

He casts an assessing glance around the room. In the entire time he’s been here, he hasn’t seen much besides the ceiling and the pillow top. The room is actually empty except for the bed, walls yellowed from nicotine and God knows what other chemicals. He can see the outlines of where furniture used to sit up against the walls. The bed is too new, and too strong. Boyd brought it here.

There are no windows.

Raylan stumbles to his feet, heads for the bathroom. It’s tiny, too, but it has a shower over an old claw-footed tub, and that’s all he needs. There is no razor or bleach, as he’d fantasized earlier. Nothing but the sink, tub, and toilet.

The water pressure is weak, but it warms quickly. Raylan holds on to the wall, a little wobbly on his feet. The tub is already wet from earlier, a damp bar of soap sitting on the edge. Raylan tilts his head back and drinks the shower water, washing himself with his free hand. The soap stings his cuts, but he hardly notices. He only dips the soap between his ass cheeks, unwilling to deal with that yet. He’s not bleeding; he wasn’t torn open, no matter how it feels.

The water is refreshing and Raylan feels better.  Better, but still weak and hurt, and when he’s no longer exhausted and vulnerable, he’s going to be very pissed. 

“I brought you a towel,” Boyd says, and Raylan almost jumps out of his skin.

Boyd stands in the bathroom, just inside the door. He is indeed holding a towel. And nothing else. He’s naked again, towel draped over his arm so Raylan can’t see the erection he knows is behind it.

“I sent Ava off,” Boyd says. “But I thought leaving you now would be very inhospitable.”

Raylan stares at him, feeling cold even though the water is still warm. “No,” he says, finally. “You should leave.”

Boyd shakes his head, smiles like a psycho. “Do you want me to wash your back?” he asks. “Looks like Ava marked you up a bit. Or was that me?”

Carefully, Raylan tries to set the soap down where he got it from, so the hand he isn’t using to hold himself up is free. He’s in no condition to fight Boyd, even without handcuffs or the drugs. The soap slips off its perch and slides down the side of the tub.

Boyd breaks out into an even more demented grin. “Raylan, you dropped the soap. Where I come from, that’s an invitation.”

He takes a step forward and Raylan immediately steps backwards, except he’s already as far back in the tub as he can go. He slips on the wet enamel, loses his balance, and lands hard on one knee. Pain lances through his leg and the rest of his abused body. And suddenly, Boyd is looming above him.

“Watch your step,” Boyd says, “Wet in here. Not a good place to wrestle.” He smiles again. “Great place to wrassle, though.”

Raylan looks up at him, knows it’s true. He can try to fight Boyd, but he won’t win. A vision of Boyd slamming his head into the side of the tub flashes in his mind. Then he’ll be getting fucked with a fractured skull.

Hating himself, Raylan raises his hands in surrender. “Boyd,” is all he says, unable to bring himself to say the words.

Boyd’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “You wouldn’t be shitting me, would you, Raylan?”

“The more you talk,” Raylan says, “the more likely that becomes.”

Boyd smirks, maybe understanding that his very existence provokes Raylan to violence, and talking makes it worse.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Boyd says, which doesn’t make any sense. He lifts the towel up, drapes it on a hook in the wall.

In the next second, he steps into the tub and Raylan is suddenly facing his half hard cock. He pulls back, still has no place else to go.

“You don’t wanna get the cuffs?” Raylan asks, hands still raised.

Boyd reaches down, intertwines his fingers with Raylan’s, then slowly lowers his arms so Raylan’s are hanging down.

“Why don’t we just trust you to control yourself?” Boyd says. “The bath is a place for civil men.”

Raylan shakes his head, astonished by Boyd’s dedication to total psychosis.

“Get all the way down,” Boyd says, “or stand back up.” He puts one hand on Raylan’s head, swirling his fingers in the wet hair.

Raylan makes the split second decision to bend his other leg and drop fully to his knees. He’s level with Boyd’s penis this way, but his sore ass is against his heels, far away from Boyd.

Boyd seems to have read his mind, because he laughs. “Get you up later, then,” he says. “Hand me the soap.”

Not what he had expected, but preferable to what he had. Raylan reaches for it, while Boyd plays impatiently with his hair.

Raylan can’t help but wince, his scalp sore from earlier.

“That hurt?” Boyd asks, his touch becoming gentle. Raylan nods, hands him the soap. “Let’s both be civil,” Boyd says, as if that’s an apology.

“Or we could keep our hands to ourselves,” Raylan suggests.

Boyd looks down at him with dark eyes. “I’ve never been good at that,” he says. “And neither have you.”

He actually washes Raylan’s head and hair with the bar soap. Raylan has to tilt his head back to keep the suds out of his eyes. He keeps his arms down, one holding the edge of the tub, the other idly clutching his own foot. He doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Boyd’s junk, half hard,  is still right in front of his face.

Boyd can only reach Raylan’s face and neck from this position. Raylan holds still while he rubs the soap over his cheeks, then into the crevices behind his ears. Boyd follows with his fingers, wiping and rinsing the soap away.

“You want to get up,” Boyd says. “Or you got a job you want to do down there?”

Raylan stares at Boyd’s dick, which is hardening before his eyes. “No,” he says. If he stands up, he’s not sure he can stay ‘civil,’ and he can’t do that other thing. He tries not to think how Boyd tasted, how it felt when he was gagging around the dick down his throat.

“I thought this was your preferred order,” Boyd complains. He taps his fingers against Raylan’s temple. “Threw a fit before. Made me _stop_ and _wash_ , remember?”

Raylan peers up at Boyd, who looks down at him without sympathy. Raylan can’t do it, and Boyd finally relents, but not before flicking Raylan in the side of the head with annoyance.

“Fine,” Boyd says. “But I’m not washing again.” Raylan blocks out that threat. “Give it a kiss, Raylan,” he instructs. “And stand up.”

Raylan can’t do that either, but Boyd tangles his fingers in his hair and pulls him forward, ‘til Raylan’s lips touch the hot, hard skin.

“Good enough,” Boyd mutters, annoyed. “Get up.” He pulls Raylan’s hair just hard enough that Raylan scrambles to obey, slipping and sliding on the tub surface.

Boyd proceeds to wash him all over, only salaciously tweaking each nipple. Raylan stands there, holding himself up against the wall, trying to figure out how he gets the upper hand. He imagines clocking Boyd, except he’s not confident of his speed or his aim.

Then Boyd grabs his balls. Not painfully, but hard enough to get Raylan’s complete attention.

Boyd is more interested in molesting this part of Raylan than washing it, stroking until Raylan is hard against his own belly.

“Turn around,” Boyd orders.

Raylan shuffles in place, hating to turn his back on Boyd. Boyd also immediately kicks Raylan’s legs wider, and then grabs his balls from behind, like he was reading Raylan’s increasingly violent mind.

Boyd scrubs Raylan’s back, but quickly and without much interest. “Ava scratched the shit out of you,” he observes.

Raylan holds on to the wall with both hands, more conscious of the pressure of Boyd’s hand on his balls than the stinging lines on his back. He grunts in response, since scratching was the thing she did that bothered him the least.

“Did you like her dick?” Boyd asks, as the soap dips lower, between Raylan’s ass cheeks.

Raylan shakes his head, wills himself to hold still. It’s really hard; he’d almost rather be cuffed and shot up with drugs again.

“She didn’t hurt you,” Boyd assures him, which Raylan disagrees with, silently. Boyd’s fingers spread Raylan’s ass open. “You look fine.”

Boyd shoves Raylan until he bends at the waist, then Boyd’s hot, wet chest is draped across his back.

“Put your leg up on the tub edge,” Boyd orders.

Raylan does, aware his thigh is trembling. Boyd barely bothers stretching him; Raylan doesn’t even think he uses lube other than the soap. He slides right in, anyway, a quick burn and a shocking fullness.

It’s a gentle fuck.

Maybe Boyd knows Raylan can’t take much more with flying apart, or maybe he’s just conscious of their precarious position in the tub. He’s slow and careful with each thrust, reaching around and jerking Raylan at the same time.

“Fucked all night,” Boyd says in his ear. “Fucked with that monster, and still tight.”

Raylan can only gasp in response, wishing Boyd would be rougher, more brutal. It’d be easier if it hurt more, if Boyd wasn’t sending pleasure waves through his pelvis, if his orgasm wasn’t stirring at the base of his spine.

“Come for me,” Boyd says, and Raylan does, his legs turning to jelly. Boyd holds him up, shoving him into the wall, chasing his own orgasm. He shoots and Raylan feels it, because he recognizes that sensation, now.

Boyd withdraws, still holding most of Raylan’s weight upright. He kisses the back of Raylan’s neck.

“Just got you clean,” Boyd mumbles. “And now you’re filthy again, Raylan.”

Raylan doesn’t respond. His legs feel weak and unable to support his weight, but if he sits in the tub, he has no doubt Boyd is going to shove his dick in his mouth.

The water heater finally gives out and the shower turns cold. Boyd turns it off. The soap is somewhere in the bottom of the tub, but he’s still stroking Raylan’s back. He traces all the way down, cupping Raylan’s ass.

Finally, Boyd gets cool enough to step out of the tub. Raylan doesn’t follow, relieved at the distance. He looks at his semen splashed shamefully on the wall. Boyd’s come is going to start dripping down his thighs.

“Come, Raylan,” Boyd commands him, like he’s a dog. Boyd has dabbed himself with the towel and is now offering it to Raylan. Of course, he doesn’t let Raylan take it. He dries Raylan himself, avoiding the area that needs it the most.

“Bed,” Boyd says, pointing out the door.

“Boyd,” Raylan protests. “Enough.”

Boyd frowns at him. “If I have to put you in the bed,” he says, eventually. “I will take liberties you will not like.”

“How exactly is that different?” Raylan demands. “What about this do you think I like?”

“The part where I make you come and you get to pretend like it’s an imposition.”

“Pretend?” Raylan snarls.

He doesn’t even get to lunge at Boyd before he’s in a headlock, being dragged naked out of the bathroom and hurled on to the bed so hard he almost bounces off. The violence of the motion rattles his brain, makes his head ache more, and reminds him of why he’s not fighting. Boyd’s not struggling against exhaustion, dehydration, and post-roofies haze. No one has shoved a goddamn pillar up Boyd’s ass. Boyd is just fine, and as mean as always.

While Raylan tries to figure out which end is up, Boyd has taken a seat on the edge of the bed.

“Come here,” Boyd says, and when Raylan doesn’t do so immediately, he’s grabbed and pulled until he’s draped upside down over Boyd’s thighs, arms folded up and pinned behind his head.

“What the fuck,” Raylan says, recognizing the position from childhood.

“You’ve been very disobedient,” Boyd says, agreeably, and then he proceeds to beat the hell out of Raylan’s ass.

Boyd spanks him until Raylan can feel his ass glowing red. It hurts, but it’s tinged with sexual arousal. Usually, Raylan likes this. A little gentler, but still. Despite himself, Raylan is hard again against Boyd’s thighs. Thankfully (maybe), Boyd doesn’t go after his cock. He just shoves Raylan off.

“Hand and knees,” he instructs, “and stop moving so goddamn slow.”

That puts Raylan facing the headboard again. The cuffs that held him there, his own cuffs, are still hooked around the railing. Raylan stares at them as he feels Boyd palming his aching ass.

“You can put those back on,” Boyd says from behind him. “If you feel you must.” Boyd’s finger brushes Raylan’s hole. “But you’re doing so well.”

Raylan doesn’t. But he does grab the head board with both hands, fastening himself to it as securely as if he was locked to it.

Boyd goes after Raylan’s hole. With his mouth and his tongue, driving inside and _sucking_. Raylan writhes. He can’t tell the sensations apart; pain and pleasure inside and out. He’s erect, again, painfully so. Boyd doesn’t reach for Raylan’s cock, and Raylan refuses to do it himself.

Eventually, Boyd notices.  He stops rimming long enough to laugh at Raylan for grinding into the sheets.

“Roll over,” he orders. “Idiot.”

Raylan does, but he keeps his hands fastened to the head board. He doesn’t touch Boyd as Boyd takes his miserable dick into his mouth. He doesn’t grab Boyd’s head like he wants to, and tries not to thrust into Boyd’s face. Even though Boyd had no compunction about trying to choke Raylan on his dick.

But Boyd also probably doesn’t have compunctions about biting Raylan or twisting his balls off, and Raylan tries to think about that rather than Boyd’s hot mouth and gentle tongue.

He doesn’t warn Boyd, just snaps his hips once and comes in his mouth. Boyd pulls off, strands of ejaculate on his lips. Raylan doesn’t see what happens next, but then Boyd’s  hands are underneath his ass, lifting.

Raylan has time to realize he’s using Raylan’s own come as lube, and that he’s getting fucked by Boyd, _again._

He might have said that out loud, might have moaned it as Boyd slams home. Because Boyd laughs and leans down so they’re face to face.

“What can I say, Raylan,” he smiles. “You’re inspiring.”

“You took the pills,” Raylan replies, as Boyd sets a relentless rhythm.

Boyd doesn’t answer, just bends Raylan in half and hoists his legs higher. Raylan doesn’t resist, but he holds the headboard tighter.

It’s Boyd who initiates the kiss, one hand warily around Raylan’s throat. Raylan lets Boyd’s tongue force his mouth open. He tastes himself on Boyd, almost pulls away. Boyd holds him in place, violating his mouth as intently as he’s done everything else.

When Boyd draws back to breathe, he’s found a new reason to laugh. “Don’t like your taste, Raylan?”

“Don’t like any of this,” Raylan reminds him.

He shouldn’t taunt Boyd. It only gets him fucked harder, the sound of Boyd’s flesh smacking into his own echoing in the room.

Raylan comes again, helpless in Boyd’s skilled grip

Boyd, however, pulls out abruptly. Still hard, he jerks himself as he crawls up towards the head of the bed.

Raylan shuts his eyes, acts like his last orgasm knocked him out for the count. He feels Boyd’s fingers in his damp hair, already pulling his head toward Boyd’s crotch.

“Raylan,” Boyd whispers, back to the gentle and coaxing end of the spectrum of psychosis.

Raylan opens his eyes, sees Boyd’s engorged dick right there. Boyd pets his hair some more, murmuring softly.

“Don’t choke me,” he orders, trying to sound commanding.

“Of course not,” Boyd says, like he hadn’t done that just hours earlier. The hot head touches Raylan’s cheek, wet and sticky.

Raylan’s lips have gone tight and dry; his jaw feels stuck shut. He licks his lips just to get his mouth open, and Boyd somehow slides right in. Slower and more manageable before, but still enormous and into Raylan’s throat. There’s no soap taste, this time, either, it’s all Boyd.

Raylan gags a little, tensing in anticipation of Boyd driving immediately forward. But Boyd doesn’t, although Raylan can feel his body shaking with the effort to hold back. He can feel it because one hand came off the head board without Raylan noticing, and wrapped itself around Boyd’s upper thigh.

Raylan stares into Boyd’s pubic hair, feeling the man’s balls against his chin and the man’s ass in his hand.

“If you don’t want me to fuck,” Boyd grinds out, “you’re going to have to start sucking.”

Boyd has one hand in Raylan’s hair, the other on the back of his neck. But he’s not shoving, just guiding. Raylan feels the tremble in Boyd’s hips increasing, and he immediately draws back to get away. And Boyd lets him, almost, until only the leaking head of Boyd’s cock is still in his mouth.

“See,” Boyd says, breathily. He presses forward and his cock returns to where it was. Raylan doesn’t gag this time, but swallows. “Use your tongue,” Boyd coaxes.

Boyd has Raylan suck his cock – inexpert and tentative – for what feels like forever. His jaw becomes sore and stiff and his mouth is sour and awful with Boyd’s taste, though Boyd hasn’t come yet. His cock is an unyielding presence in Raylan’s mouth, rocking back and forth while Raylan tries to breath around it, or through his nose.

“Open,” Boyd says, sharply. Raylan doesn’t understand until Boyd forces his way deeper, pelvis slamming in his face. Come coats Raylan’s tongue and Boyd grabs him by the chin as he pulls out, then holds his jaw shut.

“No one likes a spitter,” he says, as Raylan chokes down his bitter load.

With more alacrity than he should have immediately after orgasm, Boyd maneuvers away. He grabs Raylan's wrists and reattaches the handcuffs still dangling from the headboard

“Boyd!” Raylan shouts, alarmed.

“Oh, shush.” Boyd throws an arm over Raylan’s torso, flattening him to the bed. “What else can I possibly do that you didn’t just let me?”

He snuggles up against Raylan’s side, as if Raylan isn’t stiff with outrage and fury.

Raylan refuses to give him any other ideas. “Cuddling,” he decides, twisting angrily even though he’s flat on his back. “Cuddling is on that list. Let go.”

Boyd lets out a full-throated laugh and holds him tighter. “Make me, darlin’.” He brushes a kiss against Raylan’s cheek, then rests his head on Raylan’s shoulder.


End file.
